two-line tuesday
By Kervin | February 2, 2010 | No Comments
Bored again– shaved head, new piercing.
Bared, again– stupid head just spinning.
swingset
By Kervin | January 29, 2010 | No Comments
glass eye, glass bottle–
neither admits a decent vantage point.
pain as part of process–
neither plays accordingly.
tilt a camera, twist your head–
you were star for a second.
BikeCult meeting tonight!
By Anna | January 23, 2010 | No Comments
BikeCult is meeting up tonight to finalize content for the first issue of the zine. We’ll be at the Satellite Coffee on Harvard at 8pm. Come out to contribute, or just to hang out and drink coffee! All are welcome.
“i could never live comfortably” i just did this a second ago
By Betty | January 22, 2010 | 1 Comment
when i finally force myself off the couch, it is 4:26 pm. if i don’t go to the corner “mexi-mart” (as i’ve so offensively come to call it) now, they’ll pull the steel shutters down in my face and i’ll have to walk to walgreens for cigarettes and milk. i pull on my shoes and ignore my jacket, knowing i won’t be out too long. i step out of the dim, stale smelling apartment to inhale crisp, wet air. it’s just stopped raining and the sun is casting a soft yellow light on the cold pavement. this is nice. i need to get out more. as i lock the door behind me i hear the voices of a man and a woman shouting. i twist my neck to learn it’s location. i touch the neighbors outside wall and lean towards it. it’s not in there. i turn my head to the line of doors behind me. it couldn’t be coming from apartment 2. steven’s voice is much different from the one i hear fuming near by. i walk into the alley and see three heads over the top of a parked car. some bums are arguing on the sidewalk. i move back behind the wall. i figure the last thing you want when you’re pissed is some creepy little white bitch watching you yell at your friends. i step into the alley and begin walking towards the drunken, bickering pack. fuck it, i’m not here to bother anybody. one of the men shoots me a glare and they begin walking down the street. he separates from the other two and turns up another street and yells “this is the appreciation i get? this is the appreciation i get for buying beer?” repeatedly . the man and woman ignore him and continue on their way. i enter the corner store. the bells on the door are loud as hell, alerting the cashier who pops his head out from the back room. his large brown aviators and white mustache are comical, bobbing, disembodied and greeting me with an enthusiastic “HELLO!”. i move to the assorted throw away coolers stocked with mexican soda and diet coke. i see tortillas, butter and plastic wrapped cheese slices that don’t look very fresh. no milk. i circle around to the counter.
“excuse me. you have milk?” i ask.
“nope! no milk. we got the dry milk but none of the fresh milk.”
“alright then.” i grab two packets of ramen off a dusty shelf and place them on the counter “these and a lighter and a pack of camel filters, please.”
i pay with the tip money i should be saving, wish the cashier a good afternoon and begin to walk back to the apartment. a door on the street opens and two dachshunds come barreling out on their tiny legs. it takes a lot of self control not to run over, pick them up and start talking to them like your lonely aunt talks to new family babies. you know who she is. you know how she talks. i reached the apartment door and immediately sat back down on the couch the moment i got in. so, here i am now. i’m really hungry, but that ramen looks hell of old. fuck it. wish me luck.
i need more roadtrips
By Betty | January 7, 2010 | 4 Comments
i want to travel to more strange lands. places that require parkas when it’s so hot back home i can’t fall asleep. places i wish i’d brought shorts to when albuquerque is dusted with snow. i want to meet strangers and trade stories with them. i want to give change to bums i’ll never see again. i want to miss new mexican food and drink new coffee. i want to see things i’ve never seen before and have always wanted to see. i want to drink locally brewed beers and have ridiculous singalongs with my friends. i want to cram into a car with the best people i know and enjoy the discomfort. i want to sleep on strange floors and share a tiny pillow with the love of my life. i want to shower in other peoples bathrooms and try their soap. i want to flow from saguaro spotted deserts to endless cornfields to thread-thin roads tucked away in thick forests. i want to breath the air from every elevation. rocky mountain thin and manhattan thick. i want to see small town bands play house shows. i want to give rides to crust punks. i want a big dog in the car, just to add to the smell. i want to indulge in tourist traps and frighten natives. i want to explore the bad parts of towns. that’s where i want to find my penpals. i want to know every inch of this country and all the good people in it. i want to buy them beer and give them hugs. get me in a car. get me out of here. take me anywhere. take me everywhere.
letter for you
By Kervin | January 4, 2010 | 1 Comment
hello internet. how are you? i am fine. i just returned from a slightly-famed trip to tempe, arizona. the time spent was hard-earned and well-worth. after all the drama our collective endured, from tests of friendship to broken cars, powergrip failures and leg-over-to-concrete-chestsmacks, we returned with that sticky-sweet, too many cigarettes and far too much coffee peanut-butter taste behind our shit-eating grins.
crossing over the naughties into the tens in another city, another state, another frame of reference was nothing short of surreal. yes, there was glitter; glitter and glamour, expensive whiskey, cheap champagne– stinky handkerchiefs, sweaty feet, stale smoke– objectivism, romanticism, et. al; the day of, the night of, the mornings and evenings after new year’s were a swirling concoction of these abstractions, colors, sights and sounds.
the party eventually reached its peak with a static moment of calm. all present were on the same page, those who weren’t were no longer around, and we melted into and around the couches, little puddles of people trailing on the surrounding floor. so we asked each other what 2009 was and what 2010 will not be. i ask nothing more of myself than genuine interest in the naked experience, and to be appreciative of what is there. no, i am not talking about my penis. i then extended a firm apology to the parties i offended that night, which was well-received. no, i am not talking about my penis.
how about you, internet? let’s get together soon; ride some bikes.
new years resolution
By Kervin | January 4, 2010 | No Comments
cyclical, circular. each different in the same as the last.
i thrive saddled; pushing, pulling, spinning.
not without cost:
a tremble! quiver.
spartanesque lore; black-brown coffee drink.
cyclical, circular. each different in the same as the last.
i remained seated; shifting, squirming, napping.
all with a goal:
a city! flatlands.
victory laughs; blue-green dense stone sweat.
cyclical, circular. each different in the same as the last.
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